


My Wife and Daughter

by BardofHeartDive



Series: Tumblr Posts [4]
Category: Mass Effect
Genre: F/M, Mother-Daughter Relationship, Sole Survivor (Mass Effect), Spacer (Mass Effect), Tea, post-Akuze
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-01
Updated: 2016-09-01
Packaged: 2018-08-12 11:34:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 693
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7933060
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BardofHeartDive/pseuds/BardofHeartDive
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>This is my part of a gift exchange for OC Kiss Week on tumblr. Thank you, thank you, THANK YOU!!! to RockPaperbackScissors, who suggested this trade, drew my OCs, and let me write hers.</p><p>The story takes place in RockPaperbackScissors' universe. It in from the perspective of Commander Layla Shepard's father, Jon. Jon and Layla (and this interpretation of Hannah) are her OCs, used with permission.</p>
    </blockquote>





	My Wife and Daughter

**Author's Note:**

  * For [RockPaperbackScissors](https://archiveofourown.org/users/RockPaperbackScissors/gifts).



> This is my part of a gift exchange for OC Kiss Week on tumblr. Thank you, thank you, THANK YOU!!! to RockPaperbackScissors, who suggested this trade, drew my OCs, and let me write hers.
> 
> The story takes place in RockPaperbackScissors' universe. It in from the perspective of Commander Layla Shepard's father, Jon. Jon and Layla (and this interpretation of Hannah) are her OCs, used with permission.

“Layla Shepard. Where is she?”

I can hear the voice from the lobby where I am buying a bottle of water from the vending machines. It’s not loud exactly but intense in a way that makes it carry. I feel a deep sympathy for the unfortunate soul who answers that he cannot confirm there is a Layla Shepard in the hospital for confidentiality reasons.

“My name is Hannah Frances Shepard. I am a Staff Commander so not only do I outrank you, I outrank your boss. Moreover, I am her mother. Now, I know that she is here and you are going to tell me where she is or I will personally make sure you spend the rest of your career behind a desk, pushing papers and dealing with officers like me.”

I round the corner to find my wife glowering at a wide-eyed aide. She has a thermos in one hand, the old-fashioned kind with a lid that doubles as a cup. The other is pressed into the counter, probably to keep it from grabbing the poor man’s collar and shaking him until he gives her the information she wants. He is holding up surprisingly well but I don’t waste time in taking her attention off him.

“Hannah.”

She spins toward my voice, ready to face the next obstacle, and I notice that the swoop of hair on her right is larger than the one on the left and slightly off center. It’s barely noticeable, no one else would think twice about it, but I know what it really means. It hits me in a way I don’t expect, putting an inconvenient lump in my throat when I continue.

“She’s in Room 19. I’ll walk with you.”

The aide gives me an appreciative look as I escort her down the hall.

We don’t feel the need for small talk as we walk together. We are well practiced at being apart and better for it. Our fingers do not brush. Our strides do not sync. But we reach our daughter’s room together and what more could I ask for?

Layla is sitting at the table watching a recording of an asari commando using biotics on a datapad. She has rearranged the room so that she is sitting in the corner with her back to the wall. From her seat she can see the entire room and out the door, which is standing open, into the hall. The doors to the bathroom and the closet are open as well and their lights are on too. Hannah and I both pretend not to notice. 

I lurk in the doorway but Hannah strides in like a captain onto her bridge and sits down across from Layla. Our daughter’s dark eyes dart between her and the door, calculating if she could still escape around her. Once she decides yes, she returns to the asari.

Hannah opens the thermos and the lid unscrews into not one but two cups. She pours tea into both and pushes one toward Layla. She takes the other for herself and blows on it. If Layla notices she gives no indication. Hannah is unphased. She takes a cautious sip of her tea, then blows on it again. When her cup is nearly empty she pours more from the thermos.

Eventually, but without any warning, Layla puts the pad down and reaches for her cup. She takes a drink and says, “They won’t let me back in the field, mom.”

* * *

We don’t talk as we make our way back to the lobby either but once we’re there we make up for it. Hannah is facts and figures, data crunched and results reviewed. She’s read all the reports, from the time Layla’s unit left the  _ Goya  _ to her last debriefing. Scuttlebutt says she’s up for a handful of awards and commendations. Her survival may even earn her N7 designation.

“If they ever clear her for active duty,” she says, her first moment of doubt in 23 years. “I certainly wouldn’t in her condition.”

“They will,” I tell her.

“I hope so.”

“I know so,” I reply, “because you raised her.”

And I kiss her cheek.


End file.
